[log] you're part of a machine [closed]

[keepscalm]

Characters: England, America, Ginger
Location: Building 109
Date: Throughout day 273
Summary: Event happenings. England and America are sick as dogs, and Ginger is definitely not herself.
Warnings: Mind control, blood, non-lethal injury, vomiting.

[109: A standard single-story house with a kitchen, living room, dining room, bathroom, and bedroom. The house is empty, though; it seems like no one was living here even when the town was populated. "ALPHONSE ELRIC, STEPHANIE BROWN, EDWARD ELRIC, GREED, DAY SIXTY-ONE, TRAVELLING WEST" is written on the wall, alongside "DEAR FORMER RESIDENT, WE ARE FRIENDS, PLEASE DO NOT FEEL YOU NEED TO HIDE FROM US. CONTACT LELRIC." The following is written on the dining room floor in morse code: Duster, Day 124, Gwen, Melengar, Ratibor, Blackwater, brideeth. Beneath that, also in morse code, is "House annoying. Incredibly annoying."]

Comments

The Stabbening

[lacecase]

[Everyone felt miserable when they woke up that day. At first, Ginger was no different from England or America--she was sick to her stomach. But as the day wore on, as their conditions stayed the same, hers improved. Or, well, it seemed an improvement at first. But the better she felt, the less she cared about how she felt at all. And soon she wasn't thinking about anything.

The only thought that ultimately came to her was the thought to move. That's how she ended up standing and walking around the perimeter of the house in silence. No matter how many times she circles, she doesn't show any sign of stopping.]

[keepscalm]

[It's been some time since the last malfunction that resulted in these symptoms, but England would have been happy to go the rest of his long life without having them again. He's in the kitchen and trying to work out how best to make some tea without wasting any supplies or passing out when Ginger passes by for what seems like the fifth time.

Curious, he slowly turns his head to track her movements as she leaves the kitchen and then comes back round after a few moments of being gone. His eyebrows furrow; when he speaks, his voice is slightly hoarse from a throat irritated by vomiting.] Ginger? What are you doing?

[lacecase]

[Initially, it's of course odd when Ginger doesn't respond. Not even a, "Oh nothing, sweetie!" or anything. She does stop, though. She stops, almost sways in place before turning back around to look at England. Her eyes are devoid of expression. Of thought. Of feeling.

But then a thought does hit her: England. He needs to die.

She's not sure when the sewing scissors got in her hands, but abruptly she's swinging them down toward England. There's no hesitation in her strike. No warning.]

[keepscalm]

[Something isn't right. England's senses are dulled with the illness throbbing in his head, but that look on Ginger's face--or the absence of a look on Ginger's face--fills him with dread.

Still, he can't expect what happens next. Even if something is wrong, she's still Ginger, and Ginger would never--

But she does. And England can't react quickly enough to move out of the way. He tries to grab her arm, stop her in her tracks, but he's so sick that he doesn't have the strength. The scissors bury themselves in his gut and England shouts as their uneven edges tear through his skin.]

[fifty]

[Through illness and the simple impossibility of what's happening, it takes America longer than it should to realize what's going on. It all slots together sickeningly, and when he moves it's more like he collapses on Ginger than he tackles her, but the intent is the same. Hopefully he doesn't hurt her too much, but he has to get those scissors out of her hands.]

What are you doing?! [He's yelling, but he's too sick to put a proper amount of force behind it.]

[lacecase]

[It isn't enough. More more more more more more more.

This is the only thought cycling through Ginger's head, driving her on. As the scissors find purchase inside England she puts her weight against them, trying to drive them forward farther. She needs to cut out his insides into tiny pieces.

But she doesn't get that chance. England and America are weakened but Ginger's never been physically strong in the first place, so it still isn't a terribly difficult task to knock her off balance. She doesn't answer him. All she can do is try to get back to her feet again, to push America out of the way, to try and finish what she started.

There's no other will left.]

[keepscalm]

[England is resisting, too, holding fast to her arm with both hands in the hopes of preventing her from burying the blades even further. His head swims deliriously at the sudden movement and the rush of adrenaline burning through his blood. He lets go of Ginger when America tackles her, and the scissors don't have enough purchase in his flesh to keep his clothes and the top-heavy handle from pulling them out with the force of gravity.

They clatter as they hit the ground, and even as dizzy as he is, England has the sense to try and scoop them up off the floor before Ginger can grab them again. His free hand clutches at the new wound near his side.]

[fifty]

[Scissors, scissors--England's got the scissors, England got stabbed, Ginger stabbed him, everything swims together in his pounding head as he keeps Ginger pinned down. Ginger's not answering him, something's wrong with Ginger, of course--

He addresses England.] How bad is it?

[Rope, he needs rope. They don't have rope. He wants to throw up. Bedsheets.]

I need--a sheet.